


Give and Take

by runawayballista



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Awkwardness, Bad Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-30
Updated: 2012-03-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 18:00:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/371796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runawayballista/pseuds/runawayballista
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>York and Wash have a thoroughly awkward and frustrating sexual encounter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give and Take

Wash’s world is a little hazy right now. He knows that York is on top of him, mouth pressed into the crook of his neck, and they’re sprawled out on the bed in York’s bunk -- the _wrong_ bed, he remembers dimly. Wash has an arm splayed awkwardly across York’s back as the other agent nurses his neck with kisses, slow and weirdly gentle, as if he’s afraid of spooking Wash. It’s a fair assessment -- he’s kind of skittish, and somewhere in the back of his mind, dimly, he recognizes that. But even as he feels York’s hand rest comfortably on his hip, Wash just stares blankly up at the ceiling for a moment, trying to remember how he got here. There’s alcohol in his system, but not _that_ much, just enough to muddy up his mind when he tries to think too hard, like kicking up sediment in a riverbed.

When York realizes Wash isn’t all there, he draws back and sits up, giving Wash a dubious look. “Hey -- you okay? You look a little out of it. We can stop, you know.”

Wash’s mind snaps back like a rubber band, and he pushes himself up onto his elbows, and in the dark it looks like he’s glaring. “Wh -- I don’t want to _stop_.”

“Yeah, well, it helps if you don’t just lie there. It’s like making out with a two-by-four.” York raises an eyebrow. “Have you really done this before?”

If there wasn’t an indignant tone in Wash’s voice before, it creeps in unmistakably now. “Are you _serious_?”

“I’m just saying, it feels a little like I’m about to deflower a girl after senior prom. Not really the feeling I was going for.”

Wash’s mouth is a tight-lipped line. “Well, which am I? A plank of wood or a virgin on prom night? Make up your mind.”

York appears to deliberate on this, to Wash’s horror, and he rubs his chin in thought. “Virgin on prom night,” he says finally, with pronounced conviction, and Wash sits up immediately and punches him in the shoulder. York just lets out a snort and bats his hand away, punching him back when Wash goes in for a second strike.

“ _Come on_!” Wash huffs, shoulders tight. “I’m a grown-ass man, York!”

“Well, then _act_ like one,” York says, and he barely gets the words out when Wash lunges forward to press his mouth against York’s. York half-catches him and slides against the wall until their shoulders hit the mattress, and he pulls his arm out from under him to slide it under Wash’s neck.

Wash isn’t a great kisser, not really, but not everyone is. York figures that’s all right, because kissing isn’t everything. York tries to guide him a little, although he’s not entirely successful, and he decides after a few minutes of Wash’s awkward mix of tongue and teeth that it’s a lost cause. He pulls his mouth away from Wash’s, moving to kiss along his jaw and neck. He busies his hands with Wash’s shirt, pushing it up to lay his hands on the other man’s stomach. Wash has nice skin, he thinks in the back of his mind. A lot nicer than most guys he’s known, anyway.

Wash moves to take his shirt off, and that at least he does with the familiar grace of a trained soldier, to York’s relief. He tries to kiss York again, but York skillfully evades him under the pretense of being playful and instead presses his mouth to Wash’s shoulder, rolling him onto his back. Wash’s head hits the sheets with a soft thud, a soft breath escaping from his mouth. York straddles one of Wash’s legs and bends over him, kissing his chest, and when his knee presses against Wash’s half-erect cock, Wash arches suddenly with a strangled noise. York can’t help but grin.

“That good?” he murmurs into Wash’s skin, and York nudges him a little more just to see him do it again. “Man, it really has been a while for you, huh?”

“Shut up,” Wash mutters between breaths. Bent on proving to York that he _can_ do more than just lie there, he reaches for York, for the shorts he’s always lounging around in. He hooks a finger in the waistband and tugs, letting it snap back -- _that’s for calling me a two-by-four, you asshole_ \-- but he lets his hand rest on York’s waist for a moment. He feels the heat beneath York’s skin and even though it’s such a small sensation, for that moment it’s just _gratifying_. Wash closes his eyes and sucks in a long, slow breath as York presses a firm kiss into his neck.

Wash moves his hand to glide it between York’s legs, cupping his balls, then his cock. York makes a noise that’s just a touch too soft to be a grunt and nips Wash’s neck appreciatively. Wash palms York’s growing erection through his shorts again, and the flutter in his stomach feels so sharp, so _juvenile_ , that he almost has the good sense to be embarrassed for himself.

“Getting a little frisky, huh?” There’s a smirk in York’s voice, and his breath is hot against Wash’s ear, and as much as Wash feels the sudden urge to punch him, he just rolls his hips a little against York’s leg and tightens his grip on York’s dick. York lets out a little hiss that sounds almost like a laugh and snakes his hand inside Wash’s pants. Wash keeps his eyes closed, trying to bite back every sound that tries to jump from his mouth because _yes_ , okay, maybe it _has_ been a while, and maybe he’s a little too wound up, because right now York’s hand on his cock is the best feeling he can remember having since -- and his mind shorts out there, because he doesn’t care to remember.

“Come on, man,” York says, fingers curling around Wash’s dick. Wash clenches his jaw and the sound that rises from his chest is strained. “Learn to relax a little, will you? You’re not gonna feel _that_ good if you keep trying to hold it in. It’s not like I care if you make a little noise.”

As if to encourage him, York slips his hand around Wash’s balls and gives them a squeeze. The tension in Wash’s chest springs apart and a short, startled noise jumps from his throat, his eyes snapping open. York just grins, leaving a kiss on his temple.

“Better that way, isn’t it?” York’s voice is smug, but the way his hand moves over Wash’s cock is enough to make up for it. Wash lets out a low groan, and for a moment he’s so distracted he forgets he still has his hand pressed up against York’s groin. York gives him some murmured encouragement, and Wash closes his hand around York’s still-clothed erection, closing his eyes. But York doesn’t stop talking, not for a second, and although his voice is low and the words pour out in a steady, torrid stream, it’s distracting as hell and Wash does all he can to tune it out, to focus solely on the sensations between his cock and York’s hand. But he can’t take someone fucking narrating his entire sexual experience and he can’t block it out, not completely, and he opens his eyes and gives York the most exasperated look he can manage in the dark.

“ _York_.”

“Uh?” York drops out of it mid-sentence. “What?”

“Can you just...not talk? I can’t -- I can’t _concentrate_!”

York just slowly raises one eyebrow. “You need to _concentrate_?”

“Yes, I -- look, it’s just _very distracting_.” Up until this point, Wash didn’t know it was possible to be surly with a hard on. “Could you just...keep it to a minimum?”

York just laughs. Wash gives him the most unamused face he can muster but it seems to have little effect, and he makes a disgruntled noise and sits up to shove York in the shoulder. York topples back slightly, his hand almost catching on the waist of Wash’s pants, and he lands on his ass with his legs splayed over Wash’s. He’s still grinning, Wash can see it in the dark, and if it weren’t for the uncomfortable erection he’s now sporting and the fact that yes, York is an ass, but he _wants_ this, he’d just get up and walk away now.

But he’s already hard, and York’s right there, and Wash sure as hell isn’t going to walk all the way back to his bunk in _this_ state, so he just gives York a plaintive look and says, “Stop _laughing_ at me.”

“Oh, don’t you whine at me,” York says, shifting his weight, and a cringing look flickers over his face as he delicately adjusts himself. “Come on, Wash, you need to loosen up a little. Sex isn’t fun for anybody if you can’t laugh at yourself a little.”

“There’s nothing funny about _sex_ ,” Wash insists, and York’s eyebrows shoot up so fast they’re in danger of breaking the fucking sound barrier.

“Well, _that’s_ revealing,” he mutters to himself. He shrugs his wifebeater off and tosses it aside, leaning up against the wall, and when he grins at Wash this time, there’s something different about it and oh _goddamn it_ York has the cheesiest fucking come hither look Wash has ever seen. “Come on. Laugh a little, Wash.”

“I don’t want to laugh, I want to -- can we stop talking now?” Wash demands, and good God he sounds like he’s _whining_ , but even though this is embarrassing as shit, it doesn’t seem to be dampening his dick’s spirit any. York just leans back and folds his hands behind his head, his manner infuriatingly casual.

“Be my guest,” he says mildly, pressing one foot delicately against Wash’s erection. Wash sucks in a breath but it catches in his throat halfway down, and his upper body lurches forward to connect with York’s. Wash kisses him before he can dodge it, hands clenched around York’s shoulders. York entertains him, and he kneads gently at Wash’s dick with his toes for a moment before he draws his foot away. He moves to break the kiss, to busy his mouth elsewhere, but to his surprise it’s Wash who moves away first. He drags his mouth down York’s neck, shoulders, chest, tracing a wet trail through skin and hair.

When Wash starts to tug at his shorts and boxers, York has to bite back a witty comment or two as the rest of his clothes are tossed carelessly to the side, because _hell_ if he’s going to let Wash stop to chew him out, not when it’s just starting to get interesting. Wash hesitates for a moment, his breath hot against York’s skin. York curls his hand slowly around a fistful of sheet in an effort not to voice any encouragement.

He lets out an unmistakable groan of satisfaction when Wash’s mouth slides down around his cock. He tips his head back against the wall and sinks into the feeling, but it lasts all of a handful of moments before he realizes that something is _off_. Wash’s mouth is hot and wet and _God_ does it feel good, but the man has no sense of rhythm, and every so often York feels the uncomfortable scrape of teeth along his shaft, however slight. He draws in a breath, bites the inside of his cheek, and bears with it for a few minutes. It’s not that it’s so terrible -- it feels good, it feels _great_ at points, but Wash’s movements are jerky and every time he slows down it pulls York so forcefully out of the sensation that he has to swallow a yell of frustration. York leeches every ounce of pleasure he can, but after a while he just pulls Wash up and smiles at him with strained patience.

“How about we change it up a little,” he suggests, keeping his voice light and low, and Wash has no complaints to voice when York eases him down on the mattress and drags a hand down his chest. His mouth starts just below Wash’s navel, and he strips Wash’s pants down as his mouth moves, little by little. He leaves wet kisses around the base of Wash’s cock, and when he drags his tongue up its length, he runs his tongue over the head just to hear Wash make a little noise.

Blowjobs aren’t really his forté, he’ll admit, but he can make do and at any rate he doesn’t hear Wash fussing over it. He presses his tongue into the flesh, works his mouth up and down -- slowly at first, lips inching along the length of Wash’s cock. Wash’s chest heaves with every gasp and cry. York’s drunk and his mind is a little hazy, but he can focus if he blocks everything else out. He picks up the pace and Wash sinks into the bed, and it isn’t long before the heat coiled so tightly at the base of him springs apart and he spills into York’s mouth, his whole body bucking until he’s finished.

York spits discreetly into his hand as Wash tries to catch his breath, wipes it off into the nearest article of his own clothing he can find and swallows the rest, and he rocks back onto the bed. His body reminds him with a painful throbbing that he’s still hard, and he slides down into the sheets to close a hand around his cock because he swears if he waits any longer _something’s_ going to snap.

It’s only because he’s so wound up that he starts a little when Wash leans against him and pushes his hand out of the way. “Figured I should return the favor,” Wash mumbles into his shoulder. York just relaxes a little and whistles out a sigh of relief, because a halfway decent handjob is a little better than Wash’s disharmonic blowjobs, and it’s definitely better than jerking himself off.

But before long, it becomes painfully evident that Wash doesn’t know how to work a dick any better with his hands than he does with his mouth. He’s uneven, and he presses his fingers in at all the wrong points, and when he goes to fondle York’s balls his grasp is either too light or way, _way_ too firm, and York just can’t take it anymore.

“Good God, what is _wrong_ with you?”

Wash freezes immediately. He draws his hand away and gives York a bewildered look. “Wh...at?”

York just makes a terrible, frustrated noise and sits up, gingerly touching his own erection. “You have a dick -- do you not understand how it _works_?”

“What the hell, York? I was trying to give you a hand!”

“Yeah, _trying_ ,” York mutters. He lets out a quiet grunt and thumbs the head of his cock, shuddering. “How do you have a dick for _that long_ and not figure out how to use it?”

The post-coital haze washes away from Wash’s face, leaving a displeased glare in its place. “You could have _said_ something. You could have -- you know, I could’ve done something different,” he says, but York is bent over himself, his hand working furiously over his cock. “Oh, okay, you’re just gonna -- _really_ , York?”

York just finishes himself off as quickly as he can, and when he comes it feels like someone’s snapped a taut wire inside him and he melts onto the bed, one hand groping limply for his dirty shirt to wipe away the mess. He lets out a loud, slow sigh of relief, waiting for the last shudders of orgasm to drip away before he opens his eyes. To say that Wash looks irritated is an understatement.

“Hey, uh.” York offers him a hazy, sheepish grin, but Wash does not look appeased. “Sorry about that, I just -- got a little worked up.”

“I noticed,” Wash says flatly.

“No offense, man, you just -- need a little work, is all. Hey, I’d be happy to help, I just, uh, wasn’t prepared. Seriously, next time we should -- ”

Wash hurls a pillow at York’s face. His aim is dead-on, and it hits with a dull thud. York pulls the pillow away, looking chastised.

“All right, I kinda deserved that.”

“You owe me at _least_ another blowjob next time,” Wash grumbles, throwing himself down onto the bed next to York.


End file.
